


The Other Guy in the Woods

by punkcatknitter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bruce is making new friends, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hiding, Kid Fic, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Romance is a looooong way off, Slow Burn, flangst if you will, maine, woods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkcatknitter/pseuds/punkcatknitter
Summary: The key to hiding out in a small town is not to be too anonymous, which Bruce is quickly learning. He’s also coming to terms with the consequences of what Wanda Maximoff has done to him and how it has drastically changed the relationship between him and his greener half.He is just starting to feel like things are going to be all right, at least for now, when he opens up his big fat mouth and utters the six words that will change his life forever.“Do you guys like hot dogs?”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been procrastinating putting this story up for months because it's my first foray into the Marvel Universe and it always feels weird starting in a new fandom. Plus I know a lot of people hate this ship, but when I saw the movie I thought, "I could work with that." 
> 
> Most people have an idea where Bruce wound up after Age of Ultron, so this is AU after that. The truth is, my uncle wrote a beautiful novel about an ex-con on the run finding redemption in upstate Maine and that somehow inspired me to write about the Hulk chopping wood.
> 
> May he never find this. (lol)

 

“Thanks so much for the photos, Laura.” Natasha had her cell phone cradled against her shoulder as she flipped through the stack of snapshots, mostly of little Nathaniel who was getting fatter by the day. “And the cookies. I’ll have to hide them from Tony and Steve or I won’t get to taste a single one.”

Laura’s laugh echoed through the speaker. “They almost didn’t make it into the package. I had to threaten Clint with a spatula to keep him from sneaking a few.”

“He probably still managed to snag one.”

“Probably.” Laura laughed again.

Natasha glanced around, looking for a place to put the photos down, settling for the end of her bed.

The rooms at the newly christened “Avengers Academy” were decently sized, but still a far cry from the large apartments Stark had given everyone back at the tower. Natasha didn’t bother to keep many things here, just the bare minimum. Her bed, a desk and chair, a couple lamps. A small chest of drawers. Other than her clothes and toiletries, that was all she needed.

Natasha was currently sitting at her desk with the box Laura sent placed on her lap. Even though she and Laura were of similar ages, their experiences had left the two miles apart emotionally. Laura couldn’t seem to help mothering her, as if Natasha was another one of her children. She sent her little care packages each month, like Natasha imagined she would do someday when Cooper left for college.

There was usually baked goods included in the package, because clearly Natasha couldn’t be trusted to feed herself, and physical pictures of Cooper, Lila, and little Nate because Laura hated everything being digital. Cooper and Lila usually included drawings and letters, sometimes a leaf or a flower or a rock of some kind.

“Hey, um, I wanted to warn you about Lila’s drawing,” Laura said. “I know it’s kind of a touchy subject.”

Natasha could see the edge of a picture peeking out from underneath the tin of cookies and slid it out. The stick figure on the right was recognizable as Natasha by the red hourglass on her dress and a red scribble of hair. The other figure was large and green and unmistakably the Hulk. Right in between them was a bright red heart.

Laura was apologetic. “I tried to talk her out of sending it but she was really insistent.”

Natasha sighed as she stared at the drawing. “It’s fine, Laura. She’s just a kid. It isn’t a big deal. I’m over it.”

“Not sure I believe you,” Laura said finally.

Natasha really hated that, how well Laura knew her. Clint knew her as well but would keep his mouth shut most of the time when it came to serious things. He just tortured her about the small things, like an annoying little brother.

“Laura, I’m fine. Bruce made a choice and I respect that. I’ve moved on. I have things to do, teaching the new recruits, etc. Of course, I wish he was around sometimes, if only to keep Stark quiet, but I’m not pining. I just miss my friend.”

“I still think you’re in denial.”

“And I still think having all those kids has scrambled your brain.”

Laura laughed and Natasha leaned back in her chair. Whenever she talked to Laura she felt strangely normal. She’d never had a girlfriend before, not a real one. Hadn’t thought she ever would.

She genuinely wasn’t mad at Bruce anymore. Natasha had grown to know him well enough over the past couple years to not be shocked at how everything ended. When Bruce didn’t know how to deal with his emotions, he didn’t. He held everything inside and ran until he could figure it out.

She really should have expected it. It had just been too fast for him. Their friendship had grown and after the ‘lullaby’ started working she’d thought maybe Bruce was ready.

Apparently, he wasn’t.

If his running was only about her, Natasha wished she could have told him it wasn’t necessary. She was used to disappointment and could take a hint, being  
perfectly capable and willing to simply being his friend.

“Tell Lila I love the picture,” Natasha said abruptly, getting up and sliding the box onto the desk. She dug through a drawer for a thumbtack and stuck the picture up on the wall across from her bed.

“I will,” Laura promised.

The door burst open and Tony stumbled in. He was panting and his eyes were all wild. “GUESS WHAT I FOUND?”

Natasha heaved a sigh. “Laura, I have to go. Tony the Toddler needs to be reminded about knocking before entering.”

Laura laughed. “Talk to you later.”

Natasha ended the call and crossed her arms. Tony was bouncing back and forth on his feet like a toddler who needed to urinate. “I don’t suppose it was your maturity,” she deadpanned.

“Better. I found Banner.”

Natasha’s facial expression didn’t change, but inside her stomach began twisting. “Where?” she asked. Her voice betrayed nothing. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling.

“Some nowhere town in Maine.” Tony flopped down on her bed. She would kill him later for that. “And you’re not going to believe what he’s asking for.”


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't seem right to just post a prologue, so here's Chapter One to go along with it.

**Chapter One**

_Two months earlier…_

  
The key to staying anonymous in a small town was to blend in. Staying too anonymous would only make you stand out. You had to interact with the locals. Give them just enough information so they wouldn’t get curious.

It hadn’t been too hard for him to look the part. Bruce skipped a few haircuts and grew a bit of a beard. He picked up the essentials of the local uniform: jeans and flannel shirts. The first time he’d buttoned one up he could almost hear the laughter of his former friends.

In Fletcher, Maine, there was exactly one place to gather: the local General Store. It was operated by Ralph Miller, a middle-aged man who ran the store for his elderly father.

You could buy cigarettes and lottery tickets, groceries and even rent movies. Bruce hadn’t seen a place to rent movies in a decade. There was also a couple old Formica tables and chairs with ripped plastic seats tucked to one side. Ralph served breakfast most mornings until eleven and lunch on Saturday if he didn’t have anything better to do.

“More coffee?” Ralph offered as he stood up to refill his own mug.

Bruce shook his head. He really did prefer tea, but it was better to avoid any quirks people might remember. He bought tea in the next town over and drank it at home, but at the store he ordered a regular cup of coffee, same as the rest of the residents.

He tried to have breakfast there at least once a week, sometimes twice. He would buy the latest paper they had, which was usually a week old, and read quietly while the usual group of men gossiped. Sometimes their wives came in too, but the women didn’t linger the way the men did.

George Patterson and Walt Winston were two retirees that always seemed to be in the store, drinking endless cups of coffee and telling their best hunting tales. Walt smoked like a chimney and George was known to spice up his beverage with a glug or two from the flask he kept in his pocket.

That day, Bruce was studying an article announcing the engagement of a Mr. Tony Stark and a Ms. Pepper Potts. That was unexpected. The last Bruce knew, Tony was still clinging desperately to his bachelor ways, but the way he looked at Pepper betrayed the playboy image he put on. Bruce wasn’t exactly surprised Tony had asked her to marry him, but he hadn’t expected it either. Pepper was a good woman. He wished them the best.

“Ah heard Nicole’s mother passed away last week,” Bruce heard Ralph telling the other men. His ears perked up. Nicole Nelson was his closest neighbor, living in a trailer about a mile from Bruce’s place. He’d never actually seen her, but he’d seen her two sons playing in the woods on his property a few times.

“Ayuh. Wonder what she’s gonna to do with them ankle biters of hers while she works,” Walt wondered aloud, punctuated with a coughing fit.

“Boys ah big enough to stay on theah own,” George replied in his thick Maine brogue. “Mary Green will probably keep the little girl. Always wanted to have a few babies of her own sumpin fierce. Too bad she got in that cah accident when she was youngah and got her innards all messed up.”

He hadn’t realized Nicole had a little girl. And her boys didn’t seem nearly old enough to leave on their own but he’d learned quickly that things were done differently in northern Maine. Sometimes it felt like an entirely different continent.

Bruce finished his coffee and folded up his newspaper as the conversation changed to which animals were getting into the town garbage cans this week. He nodded to the men and headed outside where his truck was waiting.

A pickup truck was another way to blend in. Bruce’s had once been blue but now was more rust than paint. The outside didn’t matter. It ran, that was good enough.

Fifteen minutes and three dirt roads later, Bruce pulled up to the rustic cabin he’d called home for the past four and a half months. He’d purchased the cabin sight unseen from a newspaper ad. The owner hadn’t looked too closely at his identification when Bruce offered him $30,000 in cash.

Bruce had been prepared for a situation like this. He’d never let his guard down after the Battle of New York. He’d always known there could be another incident that would result in his needing to remove himself from society. Since Tony insisted on paying him a ridiculous amount of money each month, Bruce used it to prepare for the future.

With minimal help from Jarvis, Bruce acquired several false identities that were good enough to enable him to open several bank accounts across the country. By the time a year had passed, each bank account contained enough money for him to start over if needed. And each bank account also held a locked box with all the papers necessary to use one of his new identities.

The cabin had been just as he’d expected, rustic and run down. The outside reminded him a little of the Lincoln Logs he’d played with as a kid. There was electricity and running water, although you couldn’t always count on the former to work. It at least had indoor plumbing so he was happy.

Bruce parked his truck in its usual spot and carried his newspaper with him into the cabin. He walked into the cabin and past a short hallway to the left which led to the bedroom and bathroom. The rest of the cabin was completely open, with a small kitchenette and a big stone fireplace. There had been a few furnishings left behind from the previous owner, a wooden table and chairs, and a couple other small tables. The rest Bruce liberated from the nearest thrift stores based solely on what he could fit in the bed of his truck.

The walls were still mostly unfinished and it wasn’t at all pretty, but it was comfortable and Bruce had come to love his new home.

He dropped the newspaper on the mud brown couch and checked to make sure the fridge was still on. He didn’t buy much perishable food because of the fridge’s dodgy nature, but it was almost cold enough outside at night now to keep the food outside in a pinch. Right now all he had was a carton of orange juice and a package of hot dogs.

Bruce hadn’t had a hot dog in probably two decades. He’d been a vegetarian on and off over the years, but it wasn’t practical here like it had been in India. (Discovering that the Other Guy could be appeased with a good medium rare steak was just a bonus.) The hot dogs had been an impulse purchase, something that seemed like a better idea at the store than it did at home. Bruce wasn’t even sure how to cook them.

The fickle appliance was working, so Bruce headed back outside. Around the side of the house was several medium-sized piles of firewood as well as a large stump with an ax sticking out of it.

He took a deep breath. The air in Maine was cold and crisp that day and always smelled of pine. The cabin was a few hours from the ocean, but some days Bruce swore he could smell salt when he first stepped outside in the morning.

It was never quiet there. The birds were only silent at night, but even then there were the owls who broke through the quiet moments. He woke to chickadees and the Tufted Titmouse chattering at him from the tree outside his bedroom and the chatter wouldn’t stop until dusk. A woodpecker had discovered his woodpile and could usually be heard pecking away for much of the day. Rabbits and wild turkey both rustled through the dry leaves on the forest floor.

A few weeks before he’d taken a day trip to the ocean. He’d stood on the rocky shoreline, shivering in his sweatshirt, and suddenly known exactly why people came to Maine and never left. The state was beautiful and remote and yet close to civilization at the same time. Picking Maine of all places had been an impulse, but it had been the right impulse.

Bruce picked up his ax and swung it over his shoulder with the appearance of someone who knew what they were doing. In his months of solitude, Bruce had fallen into a routine that kept him active and mostly sane.

When he first arrived at the cabin, he hadn’t slept for almost three days straight. He’d stumbled outside on the third day and spotted an ax sticking out of a scarred old tree stump.

Bruce remembered watching Tony and Steve working out their frustrations at Clint’s farm and thought maybe, just maybe, he could excise some of his demons that way. He’d chopped wood until his muscles were screaming with pain and trembling with fatigue, at which point he’d fallen into bed and enjoyed fourteen hours of dreamless sleep.

The next day he went outside, his muscles throbbing and his head finally clear. The logs he had attacked the day before were shattered into pieces of something that could only be laughed at. Bruce had the enthusiasm, but most definitely not the technique.

Fletcher had a small library in town, in the converted garage of someone’s home, two doors down from the general store. The elderly librarian had a walker and a pinched face, but she pointed Bruce towards a dusty shelf with a few books on country life.

He got a library card and checked out two volumes and read them carefully over the next few days, finally figuring out how to hit the logs in the right place to split them neatly into wedges instead of just pulverizing them with the ax.

He quickly used up the remaining logs and moved on to more important things, like food and an actual bed. He also realized that the only source of heat within the cabin was a small wood stove. He’d already heard some of the locals reminiscing about blizzards of winters past and realized he was going to need more firewood. A lot more firewood. And if he chopped enough, it just might be a way to make a little money as well.

Bruce consulted his library books again and realized he was going to need a few more supplies for his firewood endeavor. That was when he’d made a trip to the general store and had his first experience with small town social interactions. It had been mildly terrifying, but he’d left the store with a descent saw and a splitting wedge. Both came from Ralph’s private collection but he had assured Bruce they were extras and flat out refused to accept any form of payment.

The Other Guy huffed.

Bruce startled, nearly dropping his ax. That was another thing he’d had to get used to the past few months. He wasn’t alone anymore.

“Relax, big guy,” Bruce murmured as a gray squirrel emerged from under a bush. “See, it was just a squirrel.”

Bruce wasn’t alone anymore. Whatever Wanda had done to him, it had broken down the barrier between his consciousness and the Other Guy’s. It was like his other self was always just hovering beneath the surface.

He wasn’t trying to break out, as far as Bruce could tell, he was just… there. Listening. Observing. Occasionally he talked, one or two words, but mostly it was just grunts, impressions. Enough so that sometimes Bruce felt like he was finally getting to know who his other half was.

At first, Bruce had been constantly on edge, terrified that the Other Guy was going to come out and do something horrible. One of the worst parts of this new ‘shared’ brain was the memories that slipped past.

The memories of Sokovia.

Bruce could hear his victim’s screams every night when he closed his eyes. He’d left before having a chance to see any of the footage but he knew what his previous transformations had left behind.

It had been everything Bruce had always feared, everything he’d worked so hard to avoid. Nothing anyone could tell him would make it all right because this time he’d attacked for no reason. He was too afraid to check the papers and see how many civilian casualties there had been.

Bruce shook his head. It didn’t help him any to dwell on any of that. Not here. Not now. The only way to keep going was to focus on the moment and do his best to forget about the past, even the good parts.

He grabbed the nearest log and set it down on his chopping block. Gripping the ax properly, Bruce observed the grain of the wood and then prepared his swing.

THUNK.

The past needed to stay in the past. Natasha had told him about her ledger, and Bruce understood it so much more now. He’d helped Tony create Ultron. Everything that happened in Sokovia, it was at least half his fault. He needed to make amends, even if they were small and insignificant in comparison to what he had done.

Later, he would load his truck up with a load of wood. Tomorrow, he would make one of his smaller attempts at amends and deliver firewood to the people in town he knew needed it. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and right now Bruce wasn’t sure what else he could do.

Staying away from everyone out here in the middle of nowhere was probably the best thing he could do for the world.

Time slipped away as Bruce got into the rhythm of his work. He used the time to work on his mindfulness, but as usual images slipped though. Working in the lab with Tony. Talking about books in the group lounge area with Natasha. Clint shooting people with nerf darts when they weren’t looking. Thor discovering egg rolls. Tony blowing things up. Pepper yelling at Tony for blowing things up.

He missed it all. Every day. Bruce pushed the memories out of his head as fast as he could. If there was anything in the world he wanted it was to go back in time. Back when he thought that if he could control the Other Guy, just maybe he could live a normal life.

He’d been so very wrong.

Bruce began to sweat. He had paused to push his hair back when he heard it.

A rustle, then the snap of a branch.

The Other Guy growled.

Settle down, big guy, Bruce thought. He turned his head slowly in the direction of the noise. He caught a glimpse of color behind a bushy pine tree looking plant. The wind blew towards him at just the right moment and he heard a childish whisper.

It had to be the two neighbor boys. The last time Bruce had seen them was when he was looking for a few new trees to cut down. They were on his property technically, but it hadn’t seemed like an issue at the time.

He bit his lip, unsure of what action to take next. Did he just ignore them? Or should he tell them to go home? What were they doing here anyway?

He brushed his hands off, waiting to see if the Other Guy wanted to weigh in on the subject. Unfortunately, he was silent, which left Bruce to make up his mind on his own.

Pretty soon the matter was taken out of his hands. There was a brief scuffle from behind the bush and a small boy burst out. “Hi!” he said, cheerfully waving.

Bruce gave a halfhearted wave. “Um, hi?”

“Joey!” An older boy crawled out of the bush. “I told you to stay away!”

“But I wanted to say hi.” Joey’s big blue eyes turned to his brother.

The older boy looked over at Bruce. “We didn’t do anything,” he said defensively.

“Never said you did,” Bruce replied.

He didn’t look convinced. “Joey, come on! We shouldn’t be here.” He had his hands shoved in the denim jacket he wore, and looked like he was ready to bolt at any second.

The younger boy pushed the cuffs back of the worn parka he had on, which was about four sizes too large. “I’m Joey,” he announced, ignoring his brother.

“Hey.” Bruce gave another awkward little wave. “I’m Bruce.” He’d kept his first name on several of his false identities, for the simple reason that he wasn’t sure he’d remember a new name.

“I’m five.” Joey pointed behind him. “That’s my big brother Wyatt. He’s ten.”

“Joey!” Wyatt protested, eyes flicking nervously over at Bruce.

“What?” Joey shrugged his shoulders. “He’s nice.” Bruce noticed that his unbrushed pale brown hair and hole in the knees of his jeans.

“We don’t know that,” Wyatt said in a low voice. He glanced over at Bruce, a wariness in his eyes that Bruce knew very well. Too well.

Joey took a step closer to Bruce. “Are you nice?” he asked.

Bruce looked down at the innocent little boy in front of him. Joey had no idea what a loaded question he was asking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wyatt’s body tensing as if preparing to run at any second.

“I like to think I’m pretty nice,” Bruce said finally.

Joey’s worn sneakers crunched through the fallen leaves as he walked over to one of Bruce’s wood piles. “You sure chop a lot of wood.”

Wyatt looked horrified.

Bruce couldn’t help but smile a little. “I like chopping wood.” The kid was kind of cute, but he still felt about as tense as Joey’s older brother. He knew less than nothing about kids. He’d avoided Clint’s when he was at the farm, and that was the closest he’d been to the under eighteen set in probably a decade.

“You must be really good at it.” Joey climbed onto the wood pile and hugged his knees.

“Not that good. I’ve got a friend who can do it with his bare hands,” Bruce said without thinking.

Joey’s eyes got wide. “Really?”

“No, dummy, he’s just teasing you.” Wyatt rolled his eyes.

“Oh.” Joey looked disappointed.

“You shouldn’t call your brother a dummy.” Bruce wasn’t sure what motivated him to speak up, but once the words were out, it was too late to go back.

Joey looked back and forth. “He’s just kidding. He doesn’t really think I’m a dummy, right Wyatt?”

Wyatt slowly walked over to his brother, keeping his eyes on Bruce the entire time. “No,” he said softly, “I don’t think you’re a dummy.”

Joey beamed. “Wyatt has to be nice to me ‘cause he’s my big brother and big brothers got to take care of little brothers. Do you have a big brother, Mr. Bruce?”

“No.” Bruce glanced around. “I was uh, an only child.” How long were they going to stay? What if their mother was looking for them?

How exactly could he get them to leave?

“Won’t your, uh, mom be looking for you soon?” Bruce tried to say casually but suspected that Wyatt at least was seeing right through his unease.

Wyatt opened his mouth, but Joey answered before he could. “No. She works late on Tuesdays.”

Wyatt looked about as disappointed as Bruce by Joey’s response.

Food, the Other Guy growled. Bruce looked at the skinny little boys in front of him, both wearing poorly fitting jackets that weren’t nearly warm enough, and felt a wave of compassion.

“Do you guys like hot dogs?”


End file.
